Son and Heir
by Snape's Nightie
Summary: Narcissa has a serious problem. Severus has a serious problem. Lucius may just have the perfect solution. SLASH and mpreg later. Complete!
1. Narcissa

Disclaimer: Characters and situations are JKR's, not mine! I'm just mucking about x.

A/N: Starts off quite sad, but gets cheerier, promise!

Narcissa Malfoy was a lady. Overt displays of emotion were unbecoming and rather beneath her. Which is why she had retreated into the furthest corner of the bathroom of her personal suite in her particular wing of the Manor, putting several sealed and silenced doors between herself and the nearest human being before succumbing to her feelings.

First, she screamed and screamed and screamed until lack of oxygen made her dizzy. Then, she collapsed onto the priceless Iznik tiled floor, clawing at her robes, her throat, and her treacherous abdomen until the pain hit her and she swore at length. Next, she curled up into a ball, sobbing hard enough to burst her lungs, shaking and moaning, liquid pouring from her eyes and nose as she cursed incoherently. Finally, she found that nothing really mattered anymore. She was completely numb. Crawling into her bedroom, she flung herself under the covers, preparing to think rationally for the first time since receiving the news.

The Malfoy family's private healer had performed test after test, referring her to international specialists and applying every spell and potion known to humanity. That afternoon, her last hope had been destroyed. There was nothing left to try. It was hopeless. Narcissa was infertile.

She had failed in her career. In her life. As a woman. It was ridiculous, all those mudbloods and muggles across the world who just popped out babies on demand, and here lay society beauty Narcissa Malfoy, of the most ancient and pure House of Black, incapable of producing a single child to inherit the great mantle of nobility. She bitterly remembered meeting her husband's Ministry colleague's wife, Molly Weasley, who already had _five_ healthy boys, though how her shabby husband managed to feed them was a mystery. Narcissa grimaced. The Malfoy fortunes were more than equal to the support of five hundred brats, yet she could not provide even one.

What would become of her now? The whole reason Lucius had married her was to provide the family with an heir, and she could not do her duty. He obtained sexual pleasure and companionship from another source, she knew, so there would be no reason for her to remain at the Manor. She did not mind his having a lover, in their situation it was only to be expected, but she had grown so fond of the house and lifestyle that leaving it behind would be a terrible blow. A quiet divorce and her suite, which she had decorated so prettily over the last four years, would be occupied by another witch, one whose biology would not be flawed. There would be no shortages of candidates for the position of the second Mrs Lucius Malfoy. But what would become of the failure? Who would take a barren wife? Perhaps a rich, old wizard who had divorced the mother of his children when she became too old or too fat would be glad of a young, blonde second wife. He might buy her a pet dog to cuddle.

Silently and more delicately than before, Narcissa began to cry.

…….

A/N: Am hoping to do short chapters, more frequently updated for this one. No prizes for guessing what happens, I'm not being terribly original I know. But I'd still love to hear from you! SN x


	2. Severus

_Forty-eight, forty-nine, fifty, fifty-one, fifty-two, add snap-gryphon pollen, raise heat, wait for fine mist to form above the surface, there it is, reduce heat, begin again, anticlockwise this time. One, two, three, four, five…_

Severus doubted that he had ever paid such close attention to a potion for such a long period. It was highly satisfying to have to be so focussed on a task, he doubted whether an set of rabid manticores in rut rampaging through Kappa Block could have distracted him for more than a few seconds from the exciting task in hand. It was also novel to be making something more important than just a study project. Should he successfully complete this particular brew, it would have instant and rewarding consequences.

_Thirty-three, thirty-four, thirty-five, thirty-six…_

Lucius would be delighted if he managed to pull this off, and it would be a complete vindication for Severus. It had taken him a few weeks to persuade his older lover that supporting him until he achieved Bronze Standard at the Institute of Master Potioners would be worth it, Malfoy had terribly old-fashioned ideas about the keeping of concubines. The fights had been ugly. Particularly following suggestions of flower-arranging and needlework to pass the time between visits from his lord. The impudence of it! Damnable aristocrats had traditions to govern every imaginable aspect of life. Well, fond as he was of the Malfoy power and influence, and emotionally attached to that manipulative demon in angel's form, Severus was not about to be ordered around. Not outside of the bedroom, at least. He had pleaded, yelled, poisoned, slapped, wheedled, ordered, stamped his foot, withheld extra-marital relations and threatened to sell his story to the Daily Prophet, all to no avail. Lucius only relented and paid his fees when Severus apparated in the drawing-room with their, er, _personal_ photo album tucked under his arm while Mrs. Malfoy (Senior) was taking afternoon tea with her son.

"Ah, Mr. Snape, isn't it? I used to play gobstones with your mother. And what's this? Pictures? How delightful. Let's take a peek." She reached over to take the album from Severus' unresisting hands. Neither had seen Lucius move so fast in his life. Before her fingers had even brushed the leather, there was a huge bag of gold in the younger wizard's pocket.

"It's all right, Mother," he grabbed Severus by the scruff of his neck and pushed him towards the fireplace. "Mr. Snape just came to collect his tuition fees for his studies at the IMP. He's in a frightful hurry, actually, must be leaving right away."

"Oh you're sponsoring the boy? What a good idea! How generous of you, dear."

"Mmm," went Lucius, grinding his teeth.

_Fifty, fifty-one, fifty-two, fifty-three, add essence of bogwappit, take evasive action, (BOOM!), check temperature of explosion-residue, good, begin again, clockwise. One, two, three…_

He was very fortunate to have Lucius in his life. A bit of argument or manipulation could bring him everything he desired, seldom with any serious consequences. He remembered that afternoon vividly – upon leaving the drawing-room, he had apparated straight to Salisbury Plain and dumped the large bag of money and a copy of his unconditional acceptance letter on the bursary desk, grinning broadly as the bursar's secretary put a tick in the box next to his name and welcomed him to the Institute.

Arriving back at his flat, he saw that Malfoy had arrived before him - as holder of the deeds he was the only other person free to come and go at will into the home he had bought for Severus. Once again he was grateful that Lucius' temper, though explosive, never lasted for long.

The first blow sent him flying across the room. The second and third were little more than slaps, as Malfoy's anger evaporated into mild irritation. He caught the hand before a fourth blow could fall, pulling the blond wizard down onto the floor next to him.

"You devious little shit," snapped Lucius, already reaching for his wand to heal the swelling on the other's cheek.

"The IMP only accept the best," he reasoned, wincing slightly as Malfoy's fingers brushed over the bruise. "You cannot let my talent go to waste. The Dark Lord needs a potions expert, even if you do not."

Lucius sulked for a little while, before accepting the cup of tea which was offered, from the divine Georgian tea-set he had bought for his lover at Christoby's the previous week. He just had time to grudgingly admit that a mind as sharp and ruthless as Snape's should probably be kept busy at all times, before he felt a curious churning in his lower intestines. Severus was watching him closely. Too closely, he realised in alarm.

"You…" he began, but was cut off by the desperate need to dash to the bathroom.

Snape consulted his little silver stop-watch and made a note in his potions journal. That must surely be his fastest-acting laxative yet. He may not mind the occasional beating, but that didn't mean he wouldn't retaliate. He was a Slytherin too, after all.

_Fifty-two, fifty-three, fifty-four, remove from heat, cover immediately, leave to cool. _Well, there it was. The darkest and potentially the most powerful potion he had ever brewed, sitting innocently on the bench in front of him.

He had headed for the Insitute library as soon as Lucius had told him that there was no hope of Narcissa ever bearing a child. He began to discuss divorce and the search for another suitable wife, which did not suit Severus at all. Narcissa was perfectly content to accompany her husband in public and allow him to play at domesticity with his male concubine in private, asking no questions about how he spent his time, as long as she had free reign over the house and money. She had subtle taste and though clearly enjoying her husband's riches, she was never extravagant. In fact, the perfect wife for a man like Lucius.

Her replacement might not be so easygoing. She could well take offence at her husband's 'deviance' and cause big trouble for her rival. He knew his hold over Lucius would withstand any number of storms, but nevertheless Severus worried about losing his position. He could cope perfectly well on his own, as he had before, but was in no hurry to lose the wealth and comfort he had acquired since securing his place in Malfoy's affections.

Unqualified students were technically not allowed in the restricted section, but certain favours for the librarian gained him full access within minutes. After a week's frantic searching, he found what he was looking for. An ancient, dark fertility draught – tricky to brew, dangerous and illegal, of course. Lucius funded all the expensive ingredients, without knowing why, as Severus did not want to raise his hopes only to disappoint him. There was no guarantee the concoction would work, even if he managed to get it right.

When the potion has reached room temperature, it is ready for testing. The only way to ascertain it's efficiency is by internal consumption. If the tester is left with an aftertaste of rhubarb and custard, then the potion has worked. If no rhubarb and custard can be tasted, the potion is useless and the consumer will suffer violent sickness until his stomach in empty. NB The successful potion will enable the most barren of witches to conceive safely. Any wizard or warlock testing the brew, successful or unsuccessful, will suffer no ill effects.

Severus raised the goblet to his lips and deftly swallowed a generous measure, bracing himself for projectile vomiting. A kaleidoscope of bizarre flavours fizzled across his tongue and down his throat, so intense that he staggered and clutched the edge of the laboratory bench to support his trembling knees. The experience churned on for an interminable ten minutes before it stopped abruptly. Snape swallowed carefully, wondering what would happen next. He gripped the edge of the tin bucket as something erupted in his oesophagus.

The belch was almost deafening. Severus could not hold back a smile as he covered his mouth, remembering the day at school when he had hit Potter with a whirling-wind jinx, and the loud burping had been the least of the Griffindor's worries.

Back in the present, his smile turned into a laugh as the taste of juicy rhubarb and creamy custard flooded his mouth. Clearly, he was a genius. It worked!

…….

A/N: Or does it? Mwhahahah. I'm having fun here!

Thanks so much for the reviews, folks! I know the first chapter was not the most exciting, but you still left me a nice set of 'encouragements'! You sweethearts.

PS: A little bit of domestic violence there – sorry if that offends - but I'm sure you'll agree that our little hook-nosed hero can give as good as he gets x


	3. Lucius

Severus was utterly crestfallen. He never allowed anyone but Lucius to read his emotions, preferring to wear his usual blank mask, rightly believing that it was safer to keep one's private thoughts private. His face had gone from glee to disappointment in a matter of seconds, and despite his own frustration Lucius found himself feeling very sorry for him.

How could he have ever hesitated about sending the boy to college? Despite being only a few weeks into his first year, he had located a wonderful ancient fertility potion and brewed it successfully in secret. It was a brilliant idea, and a brilliant achievement. But he couldn't have known that Narcissa was allergic to snap-gryphon pollen. Just one sip of the amazing elixir would have her gasping for breath, throat swollen and skin disfigured, possibly even killing her.

On their honeymoon, Lucius' romantic gesture of filling their suite with the lovely crimson blooms had backfired spectacularly – their wedding night had been spent in a Venetian hospital, with a team of healers trying desperately to reduce his bloated wife to her normal petite size. He could hardly regret the action though. They had both laughed about the disaster, starting their married life with a shared joke which could still provoke a secret sense of complicity between husband and wife. The sniggered phrase 'we'll always have Venice' led others to believe the consummation of the nuptials had been the start of a true-love match. Which suited them both perfectly.

"I'm sorry, Severus," he sighed, bitterly disappointed himself. "It was a great idea. I don't suppose you could make a substitution of some kind?" Snape had lost about four inches in height, and was pouting miserably.

"No. Nothing comes close to matching the effects of _antirrhinum gryfilis_. It was perfect!"

Lucius could not bear to think about it. Any kind of divorce would be a scandal for the gossiping old hags to crow about at their charity coffee mornings, it would probably even make the 'Wizard Whispers' pages of the Prophet. It meant the four years he had spent on the courtship and marriage would have been completely wasted, at the same time engendering some kind of deadly honour-feud with the Black dynasty, which he could well do without. Some of his ancestors would have taken a swifter and more definite course of action, probably involving a flight of stone stairs or an untraceable poison, but Narcissa was worth more than that. Odd as it may seem, they had actually become _friends._ Perhaps he could find someone else to marry her. Postponing the inevitable, he decided to take his and Severus' minds off the turmoil which would soon be set in motion, for a few hours at least. He performed a quick cleansing charm on the ever-filthy Snape before kissing his frowning lips (bitter experience had necessitated this precaution), and pulling him towards the bedroom.

…….

He still had not made a decision. Almost two months had passed since the final verdict on his wife's infertility, and Lucius was still unsure how to proceed. Narcissa was looking paler than usual, and jumped every time he addressed her, as though dreading the announcement of her fate. His legendary self-confidence had failed him consistently for seven weeks now, and he even felt too guilty to spend much time with Severus, who was also looking haunted and drawn, his recent erratic behaviour and temper tantrums providing little comfort anyway. He tried once more. Adopting a kindly but serious expression, he took a deep breath and looked steadily at her across the breakfast table.

"Narcissa, my dear," he began. She jumped in the air and her knife clattered onto the floor. Beautiful, terrified blue eyes blinked at him through the table decoration. Lucius cursed the aristocratic breeding which meant he could not bear to see a woman he had publicly promised to care for in distress because of him. He looked away. "Ah, would you pass the marmalade, please?"

Leaving the table, he felt the corridors of the manor closing in on him, as the portraits whispered and sneered at his inability to ensure the continuation of the family line. One of the seventeenth century de Malfoys even tutted at his unmanliness. Needing a change of air, he flooed to Severus' flat, hoping to take advantage of the cosy atmosphere of the little love-nest while his lover was out studying. But there had been some mistake. Severus was not out.

"Lucius?" came a feeble groan from the bedroom. He strode over and opened the door.

"Why aren't you at the Institute?" asked Malfoy in concern. Tuesday morning was for student-mentor private seminars, and the geeky potions master-to-be would normally move heaven and earth to be there. Severus' black eyes were surrounded by matching black bags as he lay delicately wrapped in the blankets.

"Dying," he sniffed.

"What?" demanded Lucius, placing his palm on a too-warm forehead. "What are you talking about?"

"Taken every healing potion I can think of. Can't stop throwing up. Can't eat. Dizzy all the time. Really miserable for no reason. Even been crying. It's over. Body's shutting down. Dying."

"Don't be ridiculous!" snapped the older wizard, his worry transmuting into anger somewhere between his brain and his lips. This languid, sunken creature speaking in broken sentences could not possibly be his feisty concubine. "Let me call a healer!"

"No," wailed Severus.

"But…"

"No!" he wailed louder, before letting his eyes fall closed, the effort of speaking apparently too much to bear. "Only you are allowed to touch me, you know that. Not that you want to, anymore."

"You're not sulking because I haven't been able to visit you very often?"

Severus rolled away from him, giving an affronted sniff.

"Things have been busy!" he explained, in exasperation. "And when I do manage to come, you shout at me and throw things. It's not encouraging."

"You hate me," said Severus with another sniff, and Lucius realised with horror that the dark boy was crying. "You like your wife more than you like me."

"Oh, love," he murmured softly, stroking his shoulder. "That's not true."

Snape rolled over suddenly, teary eyes blazing as he slapped Lucius' hand away.

"Don't touch me! Go away!" he snarled. Reaching for his wand, he blasted a protesting Malfoy halfway across the room. "You'll be sorry when I _die!_ Now, get out! Out!"

Lucius was so distracted, he did not realise he had wandered into the sunny parlour where Narcissa usually spent her mornings until he heard her astonished gasp.

"Oh. Excuse me," he said, then stopped, noticing the red rings around her eyes. She looked at him steadily for a few seconds before her face crumpled and she broke down into delicate little sobs. Stiffening his upper lip, Lucius moved forward and tentatively placed a hand on her wrist, unsure of how to comfort her. She snatched the arm away and leapt to her feet.

"Don't touch me! I know where you've been. And with whom! You always put your boyfriend before me!" She fled, leaving Malfoy standing alone and despairing in the sumptuous room. The Louis XV clock on the side-table read five minutes past eleven. There was only one course of action for a self-respecting Englishman.

Lucius went to the pub.

…….

A/N: Coffeedreams, Excessivelyperky, Silverthreads, Shakespeare's Sister, Mon, Sea Priestess, Cybersnake and Lucidity – you're saying some great things about my mini-fic! Thank you so much for taking the time, and brightening my day x

I'd love to hear from anyone who has an opinion on this!

You know what's going to happen, I know what's going to happen, let's have fun on the way there!


	4. Jeremy

The diagnobug hovered three inches in front of Severus' large nose. He glared at it.

Healer Benson was too professional to roll his eyes, but instead fixed the ovoid glass bubble with a steady gaze as it fizzed and crackled through its investigation into the patient's magical energy. The National Healing Service had banned the use of non-contact diagnostic instruments ten years ago, believing more accurate results were obtained from hands-on examinations, but most private healers kept a diagnobug for use on their more squeamish rich lady clients. And oddballs like Snape of course.

Lucius was slouching against the doorframe, still looking a tad tousled from his attempts to persuade his lover to see the healer. Benson had waited in the sitting-room for a few minutes, mildly entertained by the screams and hexes coming from the bedroom, before marching in and deftly hitting the dark young man with a _petrificus totalis._ It was most unusual to receive such a grateful smile from a Malfoy. Of course, your goody-goody NHS staff would raise objections to forcing patients – sorry, 'customers' as they called them nowadays – to do things against their will, but a lifetime's working for the Malfoy family had made its impact on Benson's moral code. He knew which side his bread was buttered.  
'Ethics,' he would announce at dinner parties, about halfway down his third glass of port, 'Is a large county to the East of London'. He liked to think of himself as a bit of a wit.

The bug stopped spinning and glowed green. As Benson placed it onto a piece of parchment, the point on the bottom began scratching out its findings. Lucius released the spell on Severus, who immediately reached for his wand and hit him with a cauliflower-ear hex, before collapsing back onto the bed, exhausted from the effort.

Delicately removing two healthy florets from either side of the blond head, Benson smiled to himself at young Malfoy's air of consternation. He looked between the two of them. Lucius had things the wrong way round – the aristocracy traditionally married ugly women, recruiting the seductive blonde as an extra-marital treat. Many years ago he had concluded that rich men who kept a mistress in addition to their wives did themselves no favours, they merely multiplied their domestic trouble by two (or three, once one took into account the duplicity and inevitable jealousy). The unfortunate business with Narcissa had caused a year's worth of anguish, now this bad-tempered youth's illness was producing more pain.

The diagnobug had stopped writing, and dropped onto the desk with a resonant clink.

"What does it say?" demanded Lucius, leaning forward to look at the sheet. Benson snatched it away, having too much experience to allow pushy relatives to form their own erroneous conclusions.  
The first few lines were obvious from a briefest glance at Snape. Dehydration, malnutrition, exhaustion and nausea all made sense. But the next word floored him. He picked up the bug and shook it, frowning. It hissed at him malevolently for questioning its judgement.

"I knew it!" exclaimed Snape, sprawling melodramatically across the pillows. "Tell me the truth. How long have I got to live?"

"I'm afraid the instrument must be faulty," he said hesitantly. This was most odd. He'd had the thing for fifty years and it had never let him down yet. Unless…? He peered closely at Severus. "You are male, are you not?" He sincerely hoped so, with a face like that.

"Of course he is!" snapped Lucius, before Severus could string together a colourful retort. "Trust me on this. Your crystal ball thing must be really knackered, if it doesn't even know that!"

"Not a problem, I just need a second opinion on something," intoned Jeremy cheerfully. He fumbled in his black leather bag and pulled out a phial of colourless liquid. It did not take long to persuade Snape to provide a few drops of urine, especially after the healer had threateningly waved a nice big catheter in his direction. Once these were added, he shook the mixture thoroughly, before leaving it to stand on the table. Three pairs of eyes watched the liquid swirl and settle.

Then it turned blue.

"Oh my," said Benson.

…….

Snape's lethargy vanished almost instantaneously. He explained all about the potion he had brewed, pacing excitedly back and forth, obviously delighted at its unqualified success. Benson had to agree, that if the stuff could even make a man able to conceive, then surely it would work on the most barren of females. They both shook their heads at the irony of the situation, and cursed Narcissa's allergy six ways from Sunday, before Severus finally left the realm of the academic for the here-and-now.

"So, Jeremy, which abortive potion would you recommend?" he asked, obviously considering the healer as an equal now that he was a proven brewing genius.

"In your particular situation, Severus, I would advise a short and painless surgical procedure. I am unsure of your new biology, so it might be worthwhile taking a look inside anyway," he suggested, professional curiosity stirring for the first time in decades of elbow bunions and dragon-pox.

"Perfect," beamed the young wizard, carefully touching his abdomen. "Do you have a camera? I would like to see what's going on in here."

"Naturally, naturally. Well, shall we get started? Liquid anaesthetic or gas?"

"Hold your hippogriffs!" shouted Lucius, managing to speak for the first time since regaining consciousness. The others froze, staring at him. He rose from the armchair with a strange, determined expression and smoothed back his hair before calmly announcing;

"I will not allow you to murder the heir to the Malfoy dynasty."

Later, Benson swore he had actually heard Snape's jaw hit the floor. The silence may have lasted for a year or two, or maybe a few moments. Everyone was too busy looking at each other to keep track.

"Lucius, it's not really…I mean, you can't honestly…" stuttered Snape at last. "It was just a fluke!"

"Call it what you will. I call it the conception of my…" he glanced over at the phial of blue potion and raised an eyebrow, "…my son?" Benson nodded dumbly. Severus' knees buckled underneath him, and the others rushed to help him over to the bed. The argument raged for a long time before Snape glumly conceded defeat. He had one parting shot, however.

"What on Earth will Narcissa say?"

…….

She listened to the long explanation politely, with her pretty hands folded in her lap. Only when Lucius had finished, did she open her mouth.

"Are you _serious!_" she exclaimed at last.

"I am, my dear," replied Lucius evenly, wishing he had paid more attention during his private legilimency lessons. So much hinged on how she accepted this development.

"Let me clarify the issue," Narcissa recapped. "I remain in the house for the next seven months, while you inform our acquaintances that I am suffering a difficult pregnancy and cannot possibly have visitors. At the end of this period, I will be handed your heir to raise and to love as I would my own child, without gaining a single stretch-mark or an ounce of extra fat?"

He nodded. Her face melted into a beautiful smile, which seemed to light not only the blue velvet drawing-room, but the troubled depths of Malfoy's soul with it.

"Lucius, darling, it's _perfect_!"

…….

A/N: Lovely, flattering reviews! Thank you! Glad you appreciate my patchy sense of humour.

Once this one is finished I really should set about finishing the longer ones, before HBP arrives and makes them all irrelevant! (That wasn't a complaint – I really can't wait! - but rest assured, if she kills off Snape I'll be straight on the train to Scotland for a 'quiet word'.)


	5. Draco

Albus Dumbledore frowned over the letter in his hand. Delivered by a standard Post Office owl, and composed of words carefully snipped out of the newspaper, its writer clearly wished to remain anonymous. He read the text again. The warning it gave was grim, but on the other hand, the very existence of the letter was a glimmer of hope.

…….

Severus awoke with a violent start. Shit. What had he been thinking? His bloody hormones were making him act like a complete dunderhead! It had seemed like the most important thing to do last night, but in the cold morning light, Severus had the unpleasant, niggling feeling that he had just signed his own death warrant.

It was not for Potter's sake, that much he had known for sure, even during the hysterical crying fit of the previous evening. Potter and his retinue deserved to be beaten to death with their own severed limbs, any idiot could see that, and the Dark Lord was no exception. His Lordship was up to something, that much was obvious from the way he had singled out this particular Morons-of-the-Phoenix member when there was so many others who deserved an unpleasant end, and Severus considered the whys and wherefores to be none of his business anyhow. But a very nasty sensation had started twisting his stomach when he learned that the mudblood Evans was also due for the chop.

Evans, the only Griffindor in his year with two braincells to rub together. Evans, the only one who had ever stood up to the Unholy Alliance on his behalf. Evans, who was, by all accounts, just marginally less enormous with child than Severus.

That must be it, he mused, as the knotting sensation in his stomach made another brief appearance before fading away completely. Some kind of as-yet undiscovered pheromone which created solidarity between the knocked-up. No rational human being would have gone behind the evil wizard's back in order to try and protect a muggle-born witch married to his worst enemy without some kind of nefarious chemical influence. He scowled. Obviously, it was all Lucius' fault, making him have this blasted baby.

He was jolted from his musings by the arrival of a large barn owl with a scroll addressed to him. Opening it carefully, he levitated three feet off the bed in terror. Impossible! How could he have known? That IMPOSSIBLE old man! Oh, Merlin, he was dead! Dead as a doornail. Dead as Regulus Black. Which was pretty damn dead. Ugh, mustn't think about what happened to him – no need to start yet another day vomiting. His abdomen lurched again.

**Dear Mr. Snape,  
Thank you for your letter, which I received in the early hours of this morning.  
I am very glad you saw fit to warn us of this development. Rest assured, I have taken the appropriate action. None but myself are aware of the source of the information.  
I do hope to hear from you again.  
Fond regards,  
Albus Dumbledore.**

What did he mean by "I do hope to hear from you again?" Was that a threat? Was he expecting tip-offs about all the Death Eaters' activities in exchange for keeping secret Snape's links with the Dark? He surely had enough information there to send him to Azkaban! And how in the name of Merlin, Arthur and Morgana had he figured out who had sent the letter? His stomach clenched unpleasantly once more and Severus finally began to pay attention to his body.

Glancing at the clock, he noticed that he was experiencing a lurch every ten minutes or so, which jogged something in the back of his brain. For the second time that morning he swore expressively in shock and fear. Not that! Not now! Waddling over to the fireplace he flung a handful of powder at the dormant grate and yelled;

"Malfoy Manor!"

…….

The guest suite was a bloodbath. Most of the portraits in the East wing had retreated from the bellowed profanities and explosions of uncontrolled magic, which had set fire to the bed hangings and smashed two of the windows as well as inflicting some excruciatingly painful localised damage upon Lucius. On witnessing her husband clutching his groin in agony, Narcissa had borrowed a helmet from one of the suits of armour and taken refuge behind a stout oak chest, popping up metallically every now and then to cheer Severus on.

At length, the screams subsided from both Snape and Lucius, to be replaced by a smaller, but no less violent collection of wails as the smallest Malfoy put in his appearance.

Lucius staggered clumsily to his feet. Narcissa lifted her visor with a squeak. Severus collapsed, red-faced and exhausted, back onto the only remaining pillow which had not been flung across the room at his lover. Benson took a warmed blanket from an overexcited Dobby and wrapped it around the noisy, wriggling object before proudly presenting it to the three parents. They all looked closely at the squashed bright pink face. No one spoke for a moment.

Finally, Lucius said: "My son!"

Narcissa said: "Aw, he's so small!"

Severus said; "It looks like the pickled dragon embryo on the potions lab windowsill!"

They glared at him, but had to admit the baby was not the prettiest thing they had ever seen.

"Oh, he's not too bad," beamed Benson cheerfully. "You should have seen the bundle of joy I pulled out of Violet Crabbe two months ago!" As one, they shuddered at the thought.

Narcissa removed her helmet and stepped forward, taking the little one in her arms and cuddling him.

"He's so tiny!" she cooed, smiling fondly at the ugly little face. "Hello, sweetiepie, Mummy's here!" The baby made an unpleasant sound halfway between a belch and a snarl. 'Mummy' seemed to think this was the cutest thing she had ever heard, and chuckled prettily, pressing a little kiss on his forehead. She handed him over to Severus, who was still trying to catch his breath after ten hours of exertion. He was mildly surprised by how easy he was to hold – he just fit snugly in the crook of an arm.

"Well done, Severus," whispered Lucius gently, resting a hand on his shoulder. "You did a grand job." He was in ecstasy. Severus had provided the perfect answer to his problem, even if it had taken a lot of persuasion, and gallons of DNA suppressant to make absolutely certain there would be no telltale copies of those black eyes or, Merlin forbid, that nose. Actually, Lucius had something of a soft spot for Severus' nose, but he could not imagine it sitting well alongside the elfin features of the last eight generations of Malfoys.

"Yes, thank you, Severus," smiled Narcissa, any jealousy or resentment for her husband's lover had long since evaporated in light of the amazing gift he had given the couple. Her life had been transformed, her position secured. She could breathe easy at last.

Snape gazed down at the sleeping child and experienced a moment of doubt. Would they be good enough parents to his son? No, never his son. Their son. Looking at Narcissa's besotted face, and Lucius radiating pride from his every pore, he concluded that they were far more suited to the task than he was. Suddenly choked by an inexplicably foreign wave of emotion he handed the boy back to his new mother

"Look after my little dragon," he begged. They both nodded solemnly.

"We will," they said in unison.

…….

Just over eleven years later, Severus was trying to choke down his panic with a gentle calming draught. There had been so many almost-familiar little faces in the clump of unsorted first-years! A Potter, a Crabbe, a Goyle, a Nott, yet another Weasley (how did she do it again and again? Perhaps it was less painful for women,) and of course, the miniature version of the man he had loved. His precious dragon. That squashed red cabbage of a baby had grown into pretty, blond boy, and if he was not mistaken after ten years of watching children develop, he was going to be a stunning young man one day.

After Lucius had kindly but definitively bought him off in the manner of all discarded concubines, he had gained his Bronze Standard at the Institute almost out of spite, and had flung himself unequivocally at Dumbledore's feet. He had met Draco once or twice since the Dark Lord's downfall, but not enough to really know him. But now he thanked fate a hundred times over that his new Lord had chosen to make him a teacher, and more than that, Head of Slytherin house! Born of a Malfoy and a Snape, raised by a Black – where else could Draco end up? Now for ten months of the year for seven years, Severus could enjoy the company of his little boy.

He would never say that he regretted giving him up. His life had been a tempestuous one, precarious even, and he knew that all the time he had been struggling to stay alive, out of prison, and to cope on a teacher's salary, Draco had been enjoying the very best of everything life had to offer. But he was glad they could spend some time together.

Now, before the boy's first potions lesson, Severus was having heart palpitations. The child had seemed polite enough at the first house-meeting the previous night, but what if he was dim? Clumsy? Loud? And he had to share most of his lessons with Potter, blasted Potter, the boy-who-shouldn't-be-an-orphan. Griffindors were so pathetic. How much had he done to protect those parents? Then Black had undone all of his hard work. He shuddered at the thought.

Well, Draco was going to like him, he would make sure of that. Striding into his lab, the customary terrified silence descended, and he began his opening speech, pausing only to smirk at Draco.

Draco smirked right back.

…….

A/N: Thank you all for your wonderful reviews! Yet again you have proven yourselves to be a charming and polite set of readers by leaving me some great thoughts and suggestions. I am honoured that you find my fics entertaining!

Can't believe there's less than a week to go! Eek!


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